Stanley Pines?
by TheHarlequinnCat
Summary: Stanley Pines has lost his memory, and unfortunately, did not regain it... *Post Finale Fanfic! T for language (I guess..?) and possible dark themes (PTSD)
1. Chapter 1

What if Stan's amnesia was to the extent of the Society of the Blind eye amnesia (which I think makes more sense realistically, but a happy ending is something that warms my heart!)

Get ready, folks. I'm hella pumped.

Discalimedhgf; none o this shit is mine.

 _10:00 a.m. post-Dipper and Mabel's 13th Birthday Party, post-Weirdmageddon.._

 _Day of the twins departure.._

He awoke later than usual, later than the usual Stan Pines would have, the night before he had to be led back from the porch in fear of him getting lost in his amnesic confusion. Yes, he was still the same man, he had the same heart and soul (the kids could see that), but he just could not recall.

In a way it was a blessing as much as a curse, Ford would sleep soundly for the first night in many years knowing Bill was out of existence (at the cost of losing the existence of his brother's self recognition). That did not mean the others would not suffer extreme trauma, Gravity Falls was accommodated to its supernatural leak and the townspeople were perfectly a-okay with the zombies, gnomes, and weird multi-headed bears. The kids were lucky enough that these memories would be repressed until they felt like bad dreams from years ago, the human brain had a way of filtering out trauma; and at least they knew they would never have to fear the wretched demon ever resurfacing (although it may sometimes feel uncomfortable staring at the illuminati sign on the dollar- "bill"). Ford knew his brother would have wanted to remember, but somehow it was easier to get along when the tables turned- instead of Stan looking out for and caring for him, the latter instead...

The twins prepared to go with their teary eyes, after saying their goodbyes and many exchanges of hugs and gifts. The last bus from Gravity Falls stood parked, the driver in no apparent hurry. Stan stood by his brother, looking dopey in his knit sweater despite the 85 degree weather, and even without knowing his backstory with the girl; the photos of them together allowed him to know that his former being must have held much sentiment for her. So when the two hugged him, sniffling their red noses, and rubbing their bleary eyes, he couldn't help but feel some level of connection in a spiritual way. It was as though he knew these two were of the greatest importance to him, but could not recall the neuro-pathways of how. Every move he made, the faces he did not recognize around him looked solemn, and sad. Even when he asked why everyone was upset, trying to make light of whatever this terrible ordeal was... Mabel handed her Grunkle a album, the same one that she had made over summer to remember the Falls.

"Here, Grunkle Stan, please look over this every night and try to remember." She whispered into his ear, before squeezing him tightly and burying her face against his dampened sweater. "I even left the page with failed summer romances I had, haha" she choked out, "and Dipper's collection of chewed up pens and I used glitter glue to write everything that makes you special to me. So.. Even if you don't ever remember what things used to be like, then maybe you can make some new memories that we can be apart of."

Stan nodded slowly, taking in this small child's plea (despite the confusion it brought), and kissed her forehead, and then her equally sniveling twin's forehead. The two turned to go onto the bus, and the girl tried to say goodbye to the chubby pig that had followed her around since he had seen her, and even attended her 13th birthday party. "Goodbye Waddles." She squeaked out, tears clogging up her face and voice into a wavering mumble.

"Don't forget your pig. Why isn't she taking her pig?" Stan asked, loudly, almost obnoxiously. "Hey, bus man! I have four twenties that say the pig goes, and one of them has a 100 on it." He threw a wad of cash at the bus driver, knocking his glasses askew. A man who worked for nickles and dimes wasn't going to deny easy cash for the delivery of a pig from a hick town, the kids were the only passengers anyhow.

And with that last exchange, the twins left, everyone running to see them in the window; Stan fell behind and merely waved, a dumb awkward smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

...

 _10:00 pm. later that night_

Ford paced, full knowing he had been acknowledged of another breach in weirdness and reality, it was another sleepless night. He worried that maybe another demon had slipped into the dimension, after Bill's destruction might've caused a weakness in the borders of this world and the next. It was more than possible that after so much breaking that the membrane between dimensions was worn thin, enough for a tear in what is supposed to be and what evil lies in other universes to appear in the Arctic Ocean. He couldn't leave Stan this way, not after his sacrifice. Not after he left Fiddleford after all those years, and by God he'd just gotten them both back; and Fiddleford's sanity was in the most prominent phases of recovery! His pacing was stopped short from the sound of a frightening thud from the next room over, to which he quickly ran in to see Stan fallen from his bed and breathing in quick shallow huffs.

He recognized this panic all too well, he had woken up many times suffering hyperventilation, shakes, sweats, and extreme paranoia. Never had he expected his brother- or the shell of his brother, having forgotten everything-.. _No time to think_ , Ford's conscience snapped. Immediately, Ford fell to his knees and tore the tangled blankets from Stan's flailing limbs.

"Stan! It's okay. It's okay! It's me, your brother, Ford. You're suffering from an anxiety attack, most likely caused from the trauma received before you lost your memory." He tried to explain, in the calmest most diligent way he could; the way that would calm him down. Stan's eyes were wild, as they darted around the dark corners of the room.

"Where am I!? Who are you!?" He hollered, pulling his fist back and socking Ford hard in the jaw. "Why are there triangles with eyes in the windows!? There's a triangle in the window!" He continued babbling nonsense, with an irate but frightened tone. Ford rubbed his sore cheek, knocked flat on his ass from the blow. He already felt it pulsing from the impact, a bruise was sure to be left...

"Stan. Stan. Calm down." Ford struggled, pushing back his ego and the urge to mangle his brother as he would've before. Taking a deep breath he noticed that Stan's breathing was starting to pick up again as he continued barking out jumbled sentences, his eyes watering and his skin dripping with sweat. Ford knelt a little closer, "We're going to breathe together, alright, Stan?" He asked softly as he reached for his brother's trembling hands and held them in his own. "We're going to breathe together, at the count of my voice, okay? It'll be alright, just look at me, and only me. There are no eyes here but just ours, just look at me and breathe.."

"Okay. Okay." Stan muttered hastily, his brows furrowed in bewildered agony as he squeezed the hands that held his.

"Breathe in." Ford took in a deep breath, which his brother tried to imitate (but as Ford expected for the first few rounds of this exercise, continued to wheeze on his own panic) "1...2...3...4...5. And out- 2...3...4...5." Ford exhaled, and his brother did too.

They continued this slow counted breathing, increasing the seconds that passed as Stan's condition stabilized. It felt like decades, even though it must've only been 15 minutes at the most. Ford didn't even notice that Stan's hands were clammy, that the room was too hot, or that he had started to cry from seeing the tears pour from his brother's panicked eyes. The ordeal came to an end as Stan's breathing evened, his face downcast and his expression one of utter exhaustion. He attempted to speak, but seemed at a loss for words, his head shaking, his hands still in Ford's.

"Don't speak, you don't have to try to explain it. You're going to feel very stressed out for the next few hours, you've went through a great deal of trauma. Your body needs to adapt to this and it will take some time, but I'm only down the hall and I'm going to help you." Ford soothed him, not speaking to him as though he were incompetent, he knew this was still his brother- he was just unable to remember what had happened, and it could be many, many, years for him to regain insight on his past. "Mabel would have suggested we go get some warm milk and cookies, would you like to do that?"

"Mabel.." Stan mused, knowing the name was associated with the girl from earlier. "Yeah. Yeah. We'll.. uh. Do that." He pushed himself from the floor, as did Ford. They both went with shuffling heavy feet to the kitchen, where Ford heated up what milk they had in a saucer, and pulled store-bought cookies from the cupboard. They sat in relative silence, both nibbling and sipping every now and then.

"This is going to be a difficult thing to get used to, isn't it..?" Ford heard his brother ask, and the sincerity of it broke his heart. He forced himself to meet Stan's imploring expression.

"Yes. It will be. But you won't do it alone." He reassured, while fear swamped his mind.


	2. Chapter 2

_3:00 a.m._

It took 10 minutes for their argument to end, 9 for the apology to come, and 8 for Stanford to lock the doors. He continued counting down in his mind, as though there could be an end to the irreconcilability of his brother. While this 'new' Stan wasn't as angst-driven and pent up from memories, he was easily frustrated, and as hotheaded as ever. It was hardwired into his neural database to be the same personality; he was incredibly gentle, and surprisingly kind (which Ford forgot somewhere along the years passed by), but undeniably quick to frustrate and anger. Stanford was the man for the job, if there could be any, he knew his brother inside and out (when he was younger), he felt as though it were almost.. The same as it had been before without Stanley being able to remember all the horrible stuff that had happened to them.

Ford felt worse, furthermore, knowing neither of them had done much to keep the family albums alive, or to document experiences that weren't of any scientific/blackmail significance. He felt as though if he were able to just sit down and read more albums, then maybe it would help Stanley form new neuropathways to solidify the same connections he felt with those he knew before the weirdmageddon. All they had was Mabel's summer album, which contained a series of exciting events and hot summer days; and each time he went through the album, the worse he felt for taking this finally happy man away from the kids. Stanley had been searching for him all those years, and yet, he took better care of his great niece and nephew than when Ford had shown up. It almost felt as though Ford had robbed Stanley of his 'dream', except someone had to pick up the pieces, and it couldn't be his amnesiac brother.

 _God, the clock ticks by so slowly..._ Ford could practically narrate a symphony of his emotions at this point, as he dove deeper into the shortcomings of his brilliant mind. It almost taunted him, dark black lines followed by smaller, slits like the eyes of a demon he fought for so many years- the demon that fed off of people's internal demons. He retched, clutching his nightshirt, squeezing his eyes shut so as to forget the empty feeling that had left in lieu of the weirdmageddon.

 _3:01 a.m._

It was practically killing him, only a minute had passed, and he found himself less and less prone to sleep. Even with everything presumably at rest, he felt the presence of a lack of purpose, a lack of point to all the research he had done- for what had he learned other than he had wronged his brother as much as he had been wronged. In some twisted fate did he have to come full-circle to retire with the happiness of just being here? Was he supposed to rest his brilliant mind and be content with.. just being alive? It seemed that he had worked tirelessly, endlessly, to have another opportunity to explore and learn and travel.. and no one to do it with him. It was a crossroads, he swore, another demon inside of his heart tearing at the coils of his tightly wound nerves- telling him to leave, telling him to stay, telling him that he had let Fiddleford practically decay without him.. and next would be the twinkle he took from his brother's eye.

He decided that staying awake thinking would be useless, a hot cup of coffee and a shot of vodka would dull his senses just enough to be able to sit and watch the sun rise without falling apart. One shot turned to two, to three, to a glass of wine, to another, till he couldn't count how many fingers he had... He stumbled to where Stanley lay in his respective bedroom, and sat criss-cross-applesauce at the foot of the bed; his watchful eyes making sure no demons come to his brother as he slept.

 _Stanley's Dream Sequence..._

 _What round table he sat at, surrounded by the faceless bodies of the Cipher Circle. He craned his thick neck to each of their blank slate expressions, each having not a nose, nor mouth, nor eyes, or brows to furrow. Knit together by the seams of nightmarish ability to comprehend, but inability to respond. Stan found himself eerily discomforted by the breathing, moving, and all too human figures of Pacifica, Mabel, Dipper, Robbie, Wendy, Soos, and all the others... Even Stanford. His face had only a mouth, "Grammar, Stanley."_

 _Letters floated from his mouth, leabin A, and formin NG ELY- the two Ms broke into pieces, 'I', AM. - Stanley quickly pushed back from his seat and turned, "Where are you!? Triangle Bastard!" He screamed as the faceless nameless beings all developed but one eye, and their silhouettes turned into dastardly stretched triangles that rose to consume the bodies until there was only darkness._

 _A single flame lit, and the room had changed... The setting was completely like no other, he turned his entire body to the flame adjacent to him._

 _"Take me somewhere that isn't these stupid dreams!" He screamed to the floating candle, his mouth dry and his eyes wet. Its flame dimmed. He reached back an arm and threw a hard punch-_

 _Suddenly he had made skin to skin contact with someone, whose scruffy hair spikes fell in his face as he hit the floor. "Stanley! Hijo de puta!" The rasp drunken man snarled, baring his sharp canines and hardy shiner- blood spurted from his split lower lip and the highest point of his cheekbone. "Hijo de puta!" The man screamed again, pulling his partially clothed and spindly body from where he lay. And picked up the romantic candle that illuminated the room, and threw it straight at him._

 _Just as he breathed in, suddenly the room hot and suffocating- he woke._

"Stanley! Stanley!" Ford shook his brother, whose eyes shot open as he sat straight up. Stanley's heart dropped into the pit of his stomach, it happened again, his brother was here as he had woken him. But there was something off about him this time, his breath smelt sour, his eyes drooped, and a light swell coming to his strong solid jaw. _Not again..._

"I'm sorry." Stan muttered, "I don't know what these dreams mean..." He took in slow deep breaths, just as Ford had taught him. Being with Ford brought him back to some hot sunburnt summer, he could almost feel the sea breeze wafting in his nose from the thought of it. Surely this was a vague recollection of things that he associated with Ford. His brother. He accepted that on account of the fact they were identical, and also the matter that the last thing he recalled was being dazed in a forest. Something terrible must have happened for him to lose his memory. "Maybe I'm just a senile old man now..." He mused as his muscles relaxed and Ford scooted closer.

"Stanley.. I haven't told you much of what happened bee." He paused. "Before you lost your mem'ry. What have you been dreaming about?" He fought the urge to grab a pen and pencil, to calculate theories and analyze Stanley's dreams. It looked like the old brain would have to do. Stan pulled a slight face, reaching out to flick Ford in the nose.

"I might have lost my memory but I know you're drunk, Ford."

Caught! Ford nodded slowly, "And?", he responded with the slightest hint of sass.

"Nevermind. If you think it'll make me better to talk about my feelings, you've got the wrong idea. I've been dreaming about things that don't make sense, I don't know if it's things that happened or just really crazy-"

"Representations of things you perceive mixed with symbols of the past!?" Ford exclaimed, with a voice that was definitely not bedroom-sleepover whispering like Stan's. The two brothers stared at each other for a bit, Ford's arms still held up in the air from the excitement and overstatement of his last sentence. Then Stanley broke into bitter laughter.

"You're such a doofus, Ford, I swear." He chuckled, and suddenly at the embarrassingly loud laughter of his brother, his chuckle turned genuine. "Jesuuss! Ford! We'll talk in the morning, okay?"

"It is morning, Stanley! It's morning somewhere every day!"

"Okay, bud, you need to go to bed."

"But not for the name of science! I will find a cure Stanley, I can find a cure..." He whispered softly. Stan hardly understood what the other said

"Yeah. Love you too, brother. Now go the fuck to sleep."


	3. Chapter 3

_Naked as they came, entangled in a mess of limbs and last night's chardonnay, Stanley's calloused hands ran through spikes of unruly hair. The smell of cigarettes lingering on his breath and rough 5 o'clock shadow. He was in an unfamiliar dream, a pleasant dream. A dream that maybe he'd been before. It was almost too real, he couldn't understand where this was; but his hands were not wrinkled, and his joints felt fine. The man-.. ! Stanley's mouth dropped slightly, "I thought you were-"_

 _"Stanley.." The man smiled warmly, lovingly,.. "like the too many drinks thing is going to work this time- it happens once, shame on me, happens twice? Shame on everyone... Involved." His hissy voice resonated deep as he stifled a belch and laughed, unattractively twisting his face into the most infatuating grin Stanley had ever laid eyes on. "Now, you don't mind, Thanksgiving," He placed a hand on Stan's knee, "Christmas," and on the other, "If we meet between the holidays?" He suggestively waggled his brow. Stan closed his eyes, unable to believe this was happening, what sort of ludicrous dream was this?!_

 _Upon opening his eyes, the sweaty tangled body of a thin spindly man was shoved against a walls, sustained and held by Stanley's brute arms. His face twisted in the most erotic of moans, and most beautiful of sounds "Harder!-!" and again, except now the body of a woman; her curls tumbling down her shoulders and the scent of her lilac perfume filling his nose. She stared into his eyes, "I love you, Stanley Pines. I love you, I love you, I love you!" She howled as she raised her head to the ceiling and screamed to the stars._

 _... Darkness. And a voice "I'm pregnant!?" She asked._

Stan woke up slowly, cautiously, to snoring in the other room. He knocked his knees getting out of bed, scratching his back as his head pounded furiously. His dreams had been getting less scary and more bizarre as the days passed. Morning coffee? Check. Look at calendar? Check. Find his brother?... Not check. Stan followed the loud snoring and crumbs of triscuits to find his brother passed out on the chair, his body crudely hanging partially off of the seat.

"Hey. Hey." Stan shook the snoring frame. "Wise guy, up an' at em."

Ford snorted slightly as he jolted awake, looking around in a delirium for the first half second, and then at his brother for the next. "I'm up, I'm up." He blinked slowly and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Now, where were we? Last night, although I will admit I was inebriated, you told me you've been having strange and unusual dreams- considering the circumstances under which they have occurred, if you don't mind me asking, what are they about?" ... Stan stared at his brother, who smiled and whispered "For science."

"Jeez Louise, Poindexter."

Ford's face lit up immediately and he pointed to Stan, "Felix the Cat! Ah, yes! 1950s television show, a studious and socially inadequate person. You used to call me that all the time, Stanley! Now, I wonder, did you have it hardwired as a response in your personality database, or did something trigger a vague memory- like the scent of something, wired to the olfactory senses- the first developed sense.-"

"I meant your glasses, Nerdford." Stan smiled pleasantly, enjoying the banter; it felt like home. "Anyways, I don't know. It's been like me, and people I don't know- but they know me. And they're less nightmares now, and more jumbled and confusing than anything." He grimaced.

"Hm.. This could be the partial fragments of neurons firing in your brain, with some memories attached- you did lose all account of who you were, but somewhere in that big head of yours I'm sure the memories of people who made you who you are remain."

Stan shifted his weight and took the chair beside the recliner, falling into the seat- it held his ass just the way he liked. As though an imprint of his body had been left there, waiting for him to come back.

"Stanley... If I hooked you up to a powerful mind-reading device while you slept, do you think documenting these bursts of reality and fantasy in your dream could possibly explain the way they link to your past and present?" Ford's gaze had brightened, "I used it before to train myself to control my thoughts, by knowing what they were exactly. In my wakened state they are controlled, but in my dreams you can see the true key moments that bothered me and molded me into the man I am today, however unpleasant, however concerning."

...

 **Oooh tbc!? :) What do you think should happen? I wonder what's in Stan's mind :0 awe shit.!**

 **This one was a little nsfw, a lil smutty (I try to do it tastefully, it's really not something I'm very good at writing)- anyone catch the stanchez (ref my other stories yo!) and the girl (if anyones wondering) is how he had kids yo.**

 **Anywhoo :) read and review!**


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